The Angel of Death
by Jasper Blood
Summary: The Gentleman Ghost, at least one half alive, is on the run again and resuming his reign of terror on London. With his band of street rats and his feisty, yet law abiding, lady, he is invincible. For now.  Read and Review! Please Review!
1. A dark, rainy night

Angel of Death

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London- 1870

The streets were cold and wet. A cool breeze tunneled through the alleyway. The hollow 'clop' of hooves echoed. The stars shone bright. The rain pelted the ground. All was quiet in London. It was perfect.

Perfect enough, at least. The only adequate time for a highway man to begin his raid is a dark and gloomy night, preferably a rainy one. It was in this particular weather that many an unlucky soul was caught with neither coat nor cape. Or cover. It was in this particular weather that they were most vulnerable, eager to accept a sophisticated gentleman's offer of a ride home. Only to be stripped of their valuables and their dignity. That was the way that Gentleman Jim Craddock worked.

Perhaps it was due to his stricken past. Perhaps it was due to his hunger for revenge. But one thing was clear in Mr. Craddock. If you ever happened to meet him, you'd never realize how much sadness there was. You'd never see the guilt behind his handsome face. You'd never know that he had a lover. For the lover was never revealed. Around her, he was gentle, still ruthless as always, but on a lower scale.

But away from her, she was useless, worthless, meaningless. He had no interest in her whatsoever. She was simply his 'woman', his 'girl'. A gorgeous woman who clung to him for dear life. And that's all she ever was. The diamond ring that rested in his pocket would never be revealed, not even to her. And it would remain like that…forever.

Jim waited patiently in the stagecoach, tapping the skull handle of his cane, glancing at the monstrous clock tower that loomed overhead. He had places to be, people to steal from, souls to suck. He couldn't waste his time waiting for her. 'Her', was Sally Tarrant, a smart, striking young woman. And unlike her lover, she spoke fondly of her Jim. Of course, only to those who thought him deserving of such affection. Oh, Sally was quite aware of Jim's dark career, but he seldom spoke of it to her, therefore she knew little. All she knew was that she had abandoned her wealthy, aristocratic family in order to be with him now.

Jim sighed and drummed his fingers against the door, then swiftly taking Sally's hand and helping her in. Dressed in a somewhat revealing, cobalt blue gown, she was absolutely stunning. But, he was in a rush and therefore didn't have time to ogle her. Never mind kissing her hand, he thought, I'll just skip to the details. Sally leaned her head against his muscular chest.

"You wanted to see me, darling?" she whispered, batting her eyelashes in the way he so loved. Confound it all, he thought, she's making this hard. He gently but firmly pushed her away.

"I'm short on time so I'll make this quick." He said coldly. "I won't be seeing you anymore, much less speaking to you or making any sort of contact." Sally stared at him.

"W…What?" she whispered. Jim sighed.

"Alright, maybe I'll write to you sometime. Satisfied?" he snapped.

"What…what do you mean, Jim?" she inquired, dumbfounded. Jim rolled his eyes, anxious to be on his way.

"Exactly what I said, love, now I must be on my way." He answered, his patience nearly gone. Sally fought to keep her tears from spilling.

"So you mean that…you mean that you don't love me anymore?" she whispered, her expression that of a little girl, making it even harder for her ex. lover. But he knew he had to continue. Like Romeo and Juliet, they really were star-crossed lovers. An intelligent young woman from a wealthy aristocratic family, and him, a man who had grown up in the slums, robbing people like her, soon evolving into London's most notorious criminal.

He had forewarned himself to let her down easy but it just wasn't his nature to be kind. Several moments passed, filled with hateful words, and Sally Tarrant departed from the stagecoach, tears streaming down her cheeks. And that ended it.

***

It had all begun with a simple grant. A simple, yet nearly impossible request, one laced with greed and selfishness and malice. Who knew, that it would result in something even worse than death. Gentleman Jim Craddock would never pass from the earth. But that didn't mean that it would be an enjoyable immortality. Eternal unrest is never as good as it sounds.

The red feather was the quill that signed his death warrant. The silver key was the one that locked his cell in the London tower. The worn rope noose was the necktie he wore to his final reward. But Gentleman Jim never passed on to the realm of paradise. And he never would, for the very demon that he had struck a deal with, demanding for eternal life, had died off himself. Now, there was only one man who could bring at least a part of him back. And he was determined to find him.

***

Swift and light were his footsteps. Graceful and elegant were his strides. The white clothing and seemingly floating top hat finished off the ghostly image that Gentleman Ghost (Jim Craddock) took pride in maintaining. But beneath this cover, was a dead, decaying face, the face that had once been handsome, with finely sculpted features, the face that every girl in London had envied. But Jim tried not dwell on the past, his past mistakes. He preferred to dwell on the revenge he vowed to take on the man who had ordered him hanged for his actions.

But there were a few issues he needed to clear up first. Now, he knew exactly who the man was. His name was Sherlock Holmes. A wealthy detective. Of course. It's always detectives. Always the goody-goody law abiding citizens. But the problem was he had no idea where to find him. Or what he'd do to him. Killing him would only grant him a few moments of self gratification. After that, it would back to his old gloomy lifestyle as an undead.

"You'll never get away with this Gentleman Ghost! The day I die, I'll haunt you for all eternity!" (That's what they all say.)

"I don't frighten easily, mortal!" the specter cackled. The man struggling to catch up with him was a rebellious young copper, a rookie at best. Purely for the fun of it, Jim allowed the man to catch up with him, tossing him aside effortlessly.

"You humans are too confident! You never take the time to think out your actions." He crooned. The man threw a punch at him, but the ghost gracefully grasped his hand, crushing the man's fingers in his, quite literally, death grip. The boy howled in pain.

"Cry, boy, cry out in pain. Such a pity that no one will come to your aid." He laughed, then pushed the boy from the roof, his frail body falling from the ledge and landing on the ground below them, his body broken, along with his spirit. He chuckled quietly. "You humans will never learn will you. Always confident. Always utterly stupid." He gazed out over the vast city that lay before him. "I was the finest criminal in London. I was at the top of that miniscule Scotland Yard's most wanted list. Even in death, I shall maintain my reputation."

***

Sally Tarrant tried in vain to calm the urge to run away from this man. Despite her countless attempts, Jim Craddock still roamed her mind, despite the fact that she had sworn she had no respect for him. Mr. Holmes pulled her closer, so close that she could feel his hand straying away from her waist, climbing up her torso, rapidly approaching her breast. On impulse, she pulled away, the feeling of his arms around her, alien compared to the warmth of her former lover's.

But she knew that she could no longer dwell upon her past mistakes. Gentleman Jim Craddock had lied about his affection for her, he had played her all along. She was nothing but a helpless lass, dependent upon him for love and safety. When in fact, he was her greatest enemy.

Gentleman Ghost loomed outside the tall windows, watching the dancing couples, fury ablaze beneath his decaying flesh. He tapped his skull-handled cane, waiting.

"Go on Holmes, keep at it. You'll find the girl has more of temper than either of us believed." He whispered. "She'll do you proper. Either that or I will. I don't like it when other men paw at _my_ girl." Some might consider it ironic that Jim still thought of Sally as his girl, but he didn't think it at all strange. He loved her with all his heart (if he had one at all) and that would never change. His leaving her was in order to benefit her, not hurt her.

But, as it always is with females, they are sensitive little things, thinking only of themselves. Sometimes they haven't the slightest fragment of common sense, which clouds their judgment considerably. But Jim was patient. Patient enough at least. After being dead for a year and a half, one learned how to wait.

***

A row of men stood before him, some filthy, others well dressed. But the common feature was the evil written into the lines on their faces. The ghostly figure of their leader paced before them.

"Alright gents, here's the operation. Snare,"

"Aye sir."

"You'll take in Sedgwick. He can take care of the diversions. If they take me down while he's stalling, Snare, you come in to back me up."

"Right sir."

"Wright."

"Yes sir."

"You and Stiff, Corning, and Leigh will take care of any last minute traps. You'll be our last resource."

"Yes sir." The men replied in unison. Jim turned back to them.

"This time, don't bring in the traps until you receive direct orders from either myself of Snare. Do I make myself clear?" he growled. The men shifted nervously.

"Aye sir."

"Good." As he turned his back, young Stiff began to whisper.

"Bloody Hell, another caper, boys! And, we gonna get Miss Tarrant! And she's probably the loveliest, gorgeous"

"Woman in the world?" Gentleman Jim turned on his heel abruptly, so that he was facing his comrade. Stiff shivered.

"Well uh, I was just, just…"

"Daydreaming? I thought so. But you listen good, my dear boy." He growled, his hand clawing at the boy's neck. "The girl's mine. You won't be any competition, will you Stiff?"

"Uh…uh…no sir…of course not sir!"

"Good answer, Stiff." He was about to fly off into the night, when he stopped and looked over the row of men.

"Alright, gentlemen, I've only one thing to say now. The few good men are back in business." The men cheered. The Gentleman grinned, his dead decaying face turning it into something otherworldly. The Few Good Men were truly back in business.

***

A quick explanation of 'The Few Good Men'

The Few Good Men is an organization consisting of seven men, Englishmen, all former occupants of the 'slums' of London. All of them poor boys who grew up to be thieves and robbers and the like, led by the infamous Gentleman Jim Craddock. For nearly a decade, their reign of terror in London left a lasting mark on the city. But finally, when Craddock was supposedly 'dead', sentenced to death by Sherlock Holmes, the people finally were able to relax. So they thought. The wicked leader wasn't really dead. But you know that, so I won't further bore you.

Gentleman Ghost, as he called himself now, had risen and once again commanded his gang of undesirable fiends with renewed vigor, desperate for vengeance and a chance to wreak eternal havoc on the cursed city that ordered him to die. And luckily, his newest operation might be successful.

His plan was to annihilate Sherlock Holmes in the worst possible way he could: making him an undead spirit, forever doomed to eternal life. Backed by Snare (2nd in command), Stiff (the scrounger), Sedgwick (the impersonator and/or diversion), Wright (the organizer), Corning (The chief swordsman and marksman), and Leigh (the weapon supplier/ manufacturer), he was invincible. With them as the distractions for Watson and his petty Scotland Yard, he could easily take down Holmes and release Sally from his powerful grasp. Then, he could finally claim her as his own once again. Holmes would never have her.

But meanwhile, Holmes had his own plans of bringing a few terrifying memories back to Sally.

***

Sally sat beside Holmes in the stagecoach, gazing out the window quietly. Sherlock pulled her into his arms, pressing hot kisses onto her neck.

"My darling, you are very quiet this evening." He whispered in a low growl, his voice so close yet so far from her beloved Jim's. Feeling alienated by the man's presence, she politely pushed him away.

"Something the matter, love?" he whispered. Sally cringed at the sound of the name, the name that had been Jim's pet name for her. She didn't have time to answer, as the coach came to an abrupt halt. She peered out the window. They were still quite a ways from the Tarrant homestead.

"Sherlock, where are we?" she whispered, the slightest hint of fear tingeing her voice. The detective smiled.

"Do you not remember it?"

"I do not what you are talking about." She said quietly. Holmes chuckled.

"But of course you do my sweet," he crooned. "Is this not the place where your beloved Jim Craddock went about his daily work? Is this not the place where he told you that you would forever be his? He lied to you here, did he not? Wasn't it all a lie? Wasn't it…"

"Stop it!" Sally cried out. "Don't you dare speak his name again!" Sherlock smiled deviously.

"I see that you aren't very friendly with the good Gentleman." He said. Sally stared at him, a murderous look in her eyes.

"What do you want from me?" Holmes laughed cruelly, grabbing her wrist and pulling her out of the coach. He led her down a darkened alley, veering sharply around several corners. At last, they came to an opening in the labyrinth of narrow paths, a central location that each led out to. And in said location lie a small group of stones, each with names and dates etched onto their backs. The angel of death was intricately carved on each of them.

"Do you recognize this place, Miss Tarrant?" Sally wandered about, stroking the ancient headstones.

"No," she lied. She had been there. Jim had showed her the secret burial grounds for the evil and undesirables. But why would Holmes be bringing her there?

"Are you sure?" he prodded. Sally turned to him, her eyes welling with tears.

"Yes."

"And you know no one that was buried here?"

"No."

"Ah," Holmes chuckled. "Then let me show you something. I am quite sure that you will recognize it." He took her hand and led her along a narrow path, towards a tall leafy tree. A grave stood beneath it, the moonlight casting dreary shadows. The angel of death wore a toothy grin, as if cackling maliciously.

"What does it…." She began but Holmes held up his hand.

"Wait, Miss Tarrant. The moonlight must reveal this particular secret." He said. Sally simply nodded, dumbstruck. But Holmes spoke the truth. A few moments later, the moonlight cast a brilliant ray of white light onto the gravestone, revealing the telltale inscription.

Memento Mori

James Craddock

Born on September 13, 1844

Hung on September 13, 1869

The crook lies dead, may London sleep easy now.

Sally felt the tears spill from her eyes but she remained silent and unmoved. There was no obituary for James Craddock. There was simply an article stating that London's most notorious highwayman had been sentenced to death. The name of the man who finally captured him was the none other than the man who stood beside her. She had never seen the grave before. When news first spread, she refused to believe it. Jim had been captured and recaptured by the Scotland Yard thousands of times, but never had they successfully kept him in their grasp.

He always slipped away right under their noses. Involuntarily, she reached out to touch the headstone, then fell to her knees and wept for her lost lover, forgetting her anger and hatred, forgetting how this man had humiliated her.

"Oh Jim…" she whispered, the torrent of tears and emotion all too much for her. It was not until Holmes began to chuckle that she silenced herself, allowing her fury to be diverted upon the detective. She stood up and stormed toward him.

"You," she whispered, "You did this to him! You killed him! You had him sentenced to death! You took him away from me!" Holmes stopped laughing abruptly but Sally continued on.

"You took him away from!" she screamed. "You filthy, no good son of…"

"_Now, now Sally, that's hardly the way to treat a gentleman_." The voice seemed to come out of nowhere. The girl was the first to look up, her eyes turning to come abruptly upon a ghostly white image, one consisting of…of a floating top hat and white clothing, and even more bewildering, a floating monocle. The specter was terrifying, undoubtedly, but it seemed so vaguely familiar that she could not even utter a scream. Holmes stared up at it, but not with a look of fear. In fact, he simply grinned, as if the image were an old friend.

"Ah, Gentleman Ghost, right on time." The image removed the monocle delicately and polished it with a handkerchief.

"Yes, I do prefer to be punctual." He replied snidely. Holmes chuckled.

"And where is your band of misfits, Gentleman?" The ghost produced a pocket watch. "They'll be along soon, I'm sure. The inexperienced ones haven't learned to embrace an evening brawl, rather than run from it." He answered. "They should be preoccupied by your forces right about now."

"Ah, so they have met Watson, I see. Well then, let us not waste a moment more with this useless chatter."

"Yes. Do tell me Holmes, why is it that your so eager to take me down when you already have? I am dead aren't I? What more could you want? Besides her, of course." He wagged a finger at Sally. Holmes smiled.

"Ah, so you aren't offended then?"

"It depends on what I am supposed to be offended of." Holmes chuckled.

"Well, I only figured that you'd be a bit more possessive of Miss Tarrant. After all, you're still very much in love with her, I'd gather." He replied. The ghost clenched its hand-less gloves and for a moment, the white image flashed away, revealing dead flesh, covered by a handsome black suit. And at that moment, the girl suddenly recognized him, but she kept quiet. Perhaps he didn't know that she knew. Then suddenly, the image shot down from its position in the moonlit sky, coming to a screeching halt in front of Holmes. Sally ducked behind the detective, frightened, but still curious. The ghost chuckled.

"You needn't be afraid of me, love," he whispered, the floating top hat close to her ear, the chill of his breath raising the hairs on her neck. "He is more a danger to you than I am."

Then, almost instantly, Holmes drew his pistol and shot at the image. The ghost flew off to a higher position in the night sky, cackling with delight, obviously amused by the miniscule detective's behavior.

"It would seem, Detective Holmes, that you are more possessive of the girl than I." he indicated. Holmes's face darkened considerably, with fury no doubt, but he managed to remain calm.

"Perhaps, sir, but the girl is obviously confused with this conversation. Perhaps we should shed light on the subject." He turned to Sally. "Why don't you introduce your self to Miss Tarrant?" The ghost again flashed to his decaying form.

"You wouldn't."

"I most certainly would. Miss Tarrant, allow me to introduce you to…"

"No!" the ghost roared. "Your life depends on it, Holmes." The detective merely smiled.

"As I was saying, allow me to introduce you to…Gentleman Jim Craddock." Sally, despite already having some inkling, gazed up at the ghost in horror.

"Jim," she whispered, tears beginning to trickle down her cheeks. She turned to the detective, fury now bright in her eyes. "What did you do to him?" she screamed. The detective laughed.

"I gave him what he rightfully deserved!" he cried, his voice tinged by a maniacal, diabolical, tone. Sally stared at him in horror, but her eyes soon pivoted toward the ghostly image that loomed before her, silent and miserable.

"So this is what has become of you, Jim Craddock. I should be glad. After all, perhaps you truly did deserve to die." Her eyes moved back to Holmes. "But he did not deserve to end up like this. How did you do it?" Holmes grinned.

"Oh, it wasn't entirely my fault, Miss Tarrant. You see, your ex. lover, being the wretch he is…was rather, struck a deal with an ancient demon, demanding eternal life in return for ten souls. That would bring the demon Astaroth back to life. Quite a steep price, wouldn't you say?"

Sally could no longer mask her fury at the both of them. The dilemma was that she didn't know who deserved it more: Holmes or Craddock. Both of them were equally malicious. And dumb as utter posts. But that was mostly directed to the ghost before her.

"Anyway, Astaroth got his ten souls but was taken down by another demon, Etrigan. Jim was granted his immortality before hand, but the London police, including myself, caught up with him in the end. He was sentenced to death and hung on his twenty fifth birthday. But, due to his…"

"Immortality I could not pass from the earth but remain in this form." Craddock finished, gesturing towards his white clothing. "Since my somewhat decaying form isn't exactly appealing, I discovered that along with my immortality, I was granted certain powers from my new 'membership' shall we say, in the afterlife. One of those powers being invisibility."

"He made himself invisible and dawned this white outfit; the floating hat and such, to make him appear as a specter, not simply a doomed spirit." Holmes once again intervened. "With London completely paranoid at the sudden appearance of this so called 'phantom', he could begin his criminal activity anew with more than a simple horse and gun. With his newfound powers, he became invincible." The ghost chuckled.

"Thank you for the compliment, Holmes. I daresay I'm flattered."

"Quite welcome. But I do have one inquiry for you. Why exactly are you here?" The ghost only laughed.

"Ah yes, I was getting to that if you hadn't so rudely interrupted. You see, I thought it would be great fun to finally see you fall."

"You weren't all that stealthy about it."

"You'd probably had some inkling of my reason for being here; therefore what fun would it be to conceal my reason, all to have you uncover it? That would spoil it entirely. But I don't like wasting time, therefore, let us put an end to this useless chatter and begin shall we?"

"Of course. But what about the girl?" Holmes glanced at her. The top hat bobbed, a sure sign that he was glancing toward her. Sally stared up at it…him…with frightened eyes. The ghost was silent.

"I'm waiting, Gentleman Ghost." Holmes prodded with feigned boredom. The top hat turned toward him.

"Leaver her out of this." He growled. Holmes smiled.

"Ah, but isn't that her choice?" The ghost turned to her.

"I…I…" Sally murmured.

"Stay out of this Sally." He ordered. At first, Sally was willing to obey him, but her anger returned once again.

"I don't have to do what you say." She said firmly. The monocle moved slightly, indicating that he was narrowing his eyes.

"Do not test me, Sally. You've no idea what danger you are putting yourself in." Sally stepped forward, only inches away from him.

"I've put myself in enough danger just by talking to you." She shot back. "It's hard enough resisting the urge to shoot you!" Jim was still quite furious but could not help but suppress a chuckle.

"You think that would do anything, ducky?"

"I highly doubt it." She replied. "But I still would do so in the hopes that all hell broke loose during that time." The image flashed again, its decaying form clearly visible. His dead eyes gleamed with rage…but they soon widened in what was perhaps…horror. Sally stared at him in confusion but couldn't do much more than that, as the ghost had lunged at her, sweeping her into his arms and dragging her away.

"Jim!" she cried. "What are you doing?!"

"Saving your life!" he shouted. Sally glanced behind her, bright green light flashing before her eyes.

"What in God's name…"

"It's Holmes!" Jim cried, pulling her along down the alleyway.

"That's impossible! He's a human!"

"No he's not!" Jim contradicted. "Before Astaroth gained his full power, the ten souls were still bound to me! When I was hung, several of them still remained. That power had to go somewhere, some of it to me and some to that wretch of a detective! He knew that I had made some sort of deal with the demon and after my death he raided my grave, seeking the power in which I had been granted. He got away with three souls, leaving four to me. Those souls became the power which I now have."

"Then what does he want?"

"The fours souls I have!"

"But what does this have to do with me?" Sally cried.

"You're a concubine," Jim answered. "My soul might be ravaged by greed but I have long since repented my former sins! Holmes is far lustier for wealth than you think! He wants the immortality entailed with the souls along with a woman to live out eternity with! After you have been granted the immortality, you are unable to touch a virgin!"

Sally looked at him. "I am not a virgin. I lost my virginity _and_ my dignity when I was with you." She said coldly. Jim's decaying face grinned.

"But he doesn't know that. And Holmes never struck me as the type to go after…'used goods'."

"I should slap you for that." Sally growled. The ghost chuckled.

"You should but at the moment you haven't the time."

"_You can't run from me forever, Craddock! And neither can your little girlfriend_!"

"Watch me." He whispered. "Off we go darling, hold on tight." He brought his white gloved fingers to the invisible face and let out a shrill whistle. Seconds later, a skeleton horse hurtled in view. Sally stood beside Jim, utterly horrified but again wasn't given the time of day to voice her opinion, as the ghost's arms were clasped around her waist, lifting her up with ease onto the horse's…skeleton's broad back.

"Jim, where are we…"

"No time for chatter sweetheart, we've got to run." And the phantom horse flew off into the night.

***

Sally clung to Jim for dear life, her arms practically glued around his waist. All the while, the phantom thief seemed hardly phased by the fact that they were in the middle of a cat-and-mouse chase that would determine whether they lived to see the dawn. At last, the phantom steed came to a screeching halt on the rooftops, how it got there, she hadn't a clue. In moments, Holmes stood before them, his eyes ruthless with fury, green light shining from the pistol he wielded. The battle was quick.

Jim fired his flintlock pistol, the bullets bursting into an explosion of purple flame. Holmes produced his pocket watch, opening the clock face and tossing it before them. Three loud ticks and an explosion of green. Sally threw herself behind Jim, who effortlessly shielded them with a screen of purple light. He wielded his skull handled cane, the skull popping up and releasing a bolt of violet lightning. The men fought like savages, yet grace was evident in their footwork. At last, a man spoke.

"Prepare to be thrown into hell, Craddock! The devil and I are close friends and we want nothing more than to see you perish! But never fear, you'll have the rest of your body back in the fiery prison you'll forever be doomed to!" Holmes shouted, insanity streaking his flesh. He produced one last weapon. He grasped a handful of golden dust and hurled it into the air, then expertly fired his pistol, knocking the cane from his opponent's grasp. Jim fell to the ground along with it, to far to reach his weapon. The golden dust wafted in the air, forming the telltale angel of death.

"Rest. In. Peace. Gentleman Jim." Holmes whispered. The gold particles then exploded simultaneously in the air, creating thousands of deadly sparks that would throw him through the dimensions into the very heart of hell itself. But Jim was too injured to do anything. He simply lay there in his dead, decaying form. His black suit was filthy with the dirt of his grave. But there was the girl.

Sally stood up and reached for the cane, screaming, "No!"

She grabbed the cane and the skull handle popped open instantly, releasing yet another purple ray. This happened just as Holmes's pistol fired, attempting to set off the sparks and form the portal that would suck the phantom away. Instead, the two beams collided and with a great explosion and a clash of colors, the fire rained down on the helpless body of Gentleman Jim Craddock, helpless and unconscious.

***

***

As the smoke cleared, Sally could just make out the limp figure that belonged to her beloved Jim, her old affection for him instantly renewed. She ran to him, fighting to hold back the tears.

"Jim, she whispered, groping through the smoke, trying to find his hand or arm or anything. But she couldn't find a trace of life within him. She stood up and let out a cry of utter anguish and grief, her world now torn apart for the second time. But the smoke soon cleared away, revealing something…miraculous. Jim's body was there. His real body. His flawless, human body. His flesh unmarred. He was, or at least a part of him was…alive.

"God love, I was only out for a few minutes. Don't cause such a fuss." A voice said. Sally whirled around.

"Jim," she whispered and ran to him as he struggled to stand. Her hands cascaded over his face, a wondrous gaze in her eyes. But she had forgotten Holmes.

"You!" he screamed at Jim. "It cannot be! How did you get your body back?" Jim smiled, returning to his phantom form.

"It was you all along Holmes. You were the one who possessed the power to give me back at least a portion of my life. And it is much appreciated." He answered. Holmes's eyes blazed with fury as he hurled his pistol into the rooftop, a crack hurtling through the surface, green light filtering through.

"You will go to hell!" he roared. He looked to Sally. "Choose Sally," he called, "Choose who you want to spend the rest of your life with! The man who betrayed you, took away everything you had, or me, a man who can give you life anew!" Sally looked at him and then to Jim. She walked forward.

"I am sorry, Detective." She said quietly. Holmes let out a howl of fury and the crack widened, the flames lapping at the jagged edges. Sally ran to Jim, who caught her in his arms and held her secure. And the two of them watched as Holmes was engulfed in the flames of hell.

***

Jim gave her a long, lingering kiss and adjusted monocle, preparing to leave. He looked at her.

"I'll see you in the future then?"

"I suppose."

"Am I forgiven?"

"Hardly. But I'm sure I can come up with a suitable debt for you to pay." She answered with a smile. Jim groaned.

"Not another one."

"You deserve it, if you want to see me again." Sally replied. Jim sighed and walked off into moonlight.

"Jim," she called. Jim turned around. She gestured for him to come back.

"I forgot something." She said. Jim looked expectant. She smiled again. And slapped him across the face. Hard.

"Bloody hell!" Jim swore. "What in God's name was that for?"

"It was a token of my gratitude." She answered and disappeared into the night.

"Bloody women. I'll never understand them." Jim muttered and went off as well. But perhaps…they'd be back.

HeH


	2. Debts to Pay

Chapter 2- A few Good Men: the beginning

Beginning sequence: Dark. Dark and bleak. Gunshots. They echo. Their echoing is like the eternal weeping of hell, the doomed souls that are trapped there. The white figure…he races. But he needn't. He is invincible. Both live and dead. Perhaps an impossible formula, but he proved all scientists and alchemists and the like, very wrong. But who is _he_? Keep reading. And you shall find out.

"Those blokes better be here. They're making me late." Jim muttered, tossing his pocket watch too and fro. But carefully. He didn't want to disturb the expertly concealed rows of weapons that lined the inside of his vest. Nothing better than a robbery on a stormy night. But not a bank robbery. Good Lord no. Bank robberies were overrated. Oh dear God, stop the presses! A bank has been robbed! A couple blasted dolts went in and stole a couple pounds!

How utterly dreadful! Never mind the highwaymen that lurk the alleys, waiting for uncertain night wanderers to pounce upon. And a few unaccompanied minors, God bless their souls. Even the young carried a few lovely trinkets. But never mind that. I'll deal with the unaccompanied minors perhaps in the next chapter. But I like to prolong the suspense. And don't ask me who I am. I'm just the bloody writer. But, back to the main subject.

The phantom horse, named Oswald (and God only knows where the name came from) came to a near silent halt. A few men scurried up to the ghostly steed.

"Right-ho Jim, we're already." Snare, 2nd in command, called up as quietly as possible. The phantom himself, mounted and ready, chuckled, the seemingly floating monocle bobbing slightly.

"Excellent, Snare. The others are primed and ready, I hope."

"Aye sir."

"Good. You know I prefer to be punctual. Any other news?"

"No sir."

"Even better. Alright gentlemen, prepare to suck every last drop from those arrogant imbeciles. Every person in that room is a money sack, just waiting to be raided. And we will be the ones to raid it."

"Aye sir." The men responded sharply and departed for their respective stations. Jim chuckled quietly.

"So let it begin." He whispered, malice dripping from his every word.

Sally Tarrant waited expectantly in the coach. Jim was there in a few moments, but she couldn't scold him for making her late, as he had pressed her against the wall of the coach, mouthing at her ruthlessly. Although she didn't mind his amorous affection, it was downright irritating at times like these. Men. Sick things. Always thinking about love. Or in his case, love and money. But if she was to make a bet, she'd bet that money was the dominant subject. At last, he broke away and settled beside her, pulling her into his arms gently.

She simply stared at him, her eyes practically breathing fire, hurling their fury onto him.

"Uh…something troubling you, love?"

"No, not at all."

"Oh…well alright then." Sally slapped him upside the head. Jim was astounded. Had she not been a woman, he would have pulled his gun on her. Not that her gender made any difference. He would have shot anyone that was as disagreeable as Sarah Tarrant. Including her.

"I was being sarcastic, you dolt." She snapped. Jim rubbed his now fully restored (Not the least bit decaying, lest hit by a secret type of metal when in phantom form that he discovered to be Nth metal) head angrily.

"Still working on that debt, I see." He growled. Sally smiled, back to her sweet and playful self.

"Of course. I don't forget easily, you know."

"Oh confound it all!" Jim snapped. "You know I did it for your own good."

"Well you were a little late, Jimmy darling. My reputation was ruined the minute I was caught within a five foot radius of you." She answered (never mind the fact that England uses the metric system). Jim glared at her but said nothing more.

"Jim, why am I here?" Sally inquired after a few moments of silence. Jim glanced at her.

"We're going to a party, are we not?"

"Yes. But you aren't."

"I'm here aren't I?" he replied. Sally looked up at him.

"Jim, you have no interest in this party. You're going simply for the…"

"Activity?"

"Precisely." She answered. Jim chuckled and bent his head so that their noses touched.

"Then you shouldn't have fallen for a robber then, ducky." He whispered liltingly, and pressed a kiss onto her forehead. "That's what you get for coming back." Sally let the sweet scent of his cologne and the warmth of his arms around her take her away, although she would have loved to have socked him right in his most sensitive area. And she was in a damn good position too. Curses.

"_That's what you get for coming back_." She muttered. "Humph. _You _were practically crawling back. And here you are acting as if not a thing happened. You've probably forgotten about Detective Holmes." Jim chuckled.

"I'm dreadfully sorry for you loss, madam. I know you had the highest of hopes of becoming Mrs. Sherlock Holmes. But you saved me a bloody lot of trouble by choosing me. Who knew he'd be sucked into the depths of hell. But without him, the Scotland Yard's lost and I am having more fun than I've had in ages."

"Yes well, while you're having a crime spree, I'm stuck with the cleaning up. I was considered the closest friend as he had no relatives; therefore I was appointed the job of assembling his funeral. Never mind the fact that there wasn't a body to be put in the wretched box."

The 'Few Good Men' organization (read first chapter for reference) were stationed at every window, like wild cats about to pounce. Rows upon rows of explosives had been planted on the sills, the fuses ready to be ignited by each man. The greatest amount of explosives had been placed at the central rose window, the biggest in Rawley Manor, the location where the All Hallows Eve ball was to be held. There were at least fifty explosives there, all to be ignited by Leigh, the gang's manufacturer.

Of course communication was an issue, since the windows weren't all that close together. But no matter. They were highwaymen after all. They lived for speed. And stealth. That was the one element that their leader, Gentleman Jim Craddock, so loved. Therefore, Leigh had ingeniously blended Samuel Morse's (co-inventor of Morse code, courtesy of wikipedia) idea with a simple oil lamp (stolen, of course). He could use the dimmer on the lamp to produce the symbols. Every man was equipped an oil lamp, making for easy communication.

"Alright boys," Leigh coded, "Everyone ready?" One by one, a string of codes flashed. "Right-ho gents, lets blow this place." Now all they could was wait for Jim's signal.

Jim held Sally in his arms, twirling her about, but his mind was not focused on dancing. While most thieves would be obsessed with the lute entailed with a robbery, Jim's mind wasn't so easily swayed by greed anymore. There was once a time, when he was a young boy, that he would have done anything for a sack of gold. Anything to gaze at the glittering coins. Anything to be able to say that they were his. All his.

Flashback, 1857- the first crime:

The boy flashed through the streets, his tawny hair whipping from side to side. Filth streaked his skin, but beneath the grime his eyes held a deep, savage fury. Several apples and a loaf of bread. Everyday things to a regular, wealthy boy, but to Jamie Craddock, they were the finest things in the world. Food. Fresh, delightful food. Not scraps from the garbage. Not the bloody leftovers that their employers, Mr. Goodhand Holmes and his wife, gave them.

Their bloody son, Sherlock, didn't give them the slightest morsel. He darted through the alleyways, cackling as the vendors searched for him with no success. Only a street boy knew the alleys. _Street rat_, to be exact. The English could be very stereotypical.

"Get back here, you filthy rat!" the men called out. Jamie smiled.

"I see your admitting that you can't catch up," he whispered maliciously. He veered around the corner, lute in hand and his own special invention in the other. It was a small sphere, made up of gunpowder and oil placed in a shell of a thick paper. All he had to do was light a match and…BOOM! He placed the sphere on the ground and produced a packet of matches from his trousers' pocket. He lit it and set the ball aflame. As the paper was beginning to singe, he took off, scampering to a higher point so that he could observe his invention in action from a safer area.

And to his great delight, there was a boom. He could hear the men scurrying out of the alleyway, screaming in fright. He laughed contently and took a bite out of the apple, but just a bite. He had to bring the food home for Mother. And so began a grueling career in thievery, but our young highwayman soared up the ranks of crime with effortless ease. Let's fast-forward to yet another flashback in the young criminal's life.

1863- Craddock meets his old rival, Mathias Snare:

The wind rushed at him with lightning speed, that and the gunshots echoing in the alleys, a deafening combination. The hollow clop of hooves on stone reflected off the tall walls, and a deep feeling of claustrophobia flared within him. One man and his horse against at least twenty Scotland Yard men. In an alley. A dark and narrow alley. In this type of situation, it was easy to feel as if the walls were closing in on you.

He grabbed the reigns and held them with his teeth as he produced twin flintlock pistols and aimed them backwards at his pursuers, cautious to not disturb the animal he was mounted upon, lest he wanted his teeth ripped from his gums.

"Give it up Craddock, you're outnumbered!" Detective Holmes called out, a malicious edge in his voice. In response, he fired a storm of bullets. Spitting the reigns out and grabbing them with his gloved hands, he chuckled. "I don't frighten easily, Detective." He slapped the reigns against the horse's backside and dug his stirrups in its sides and the horse took off at a gallop.

He came to a slow trot as the alleyway opened onto an abandoned courtyard. He waited for a few moments, making sure that the authorities weren't coming. He leapt off of the horse and scanned the grounds. Paranoia was beginning to leave its mark on the young man. After a few moments of useless searching, a voice called out. He whirled around, fearing that the Scotland Yard had finally caught up to him. But it was only Mathias Snare. His old rival since childhood.

The son of a thief. The son of a drunkard was no match for the son of a thief. And Jim was indeed the son of drunkard.

"James Craddock, t'is an honor to meet again, sir." Mathias called out, stepping out of the gloom. His ragged black hair hung over his face in thick, badly cut strands. His left eye was surrounded by a thick, red bruise, no doubt a permanent one.

"Snare." He answered curtly. The eyebrow of the wounded eye rose.

"No need to be edgy, Jim. It was a true compliment."

"I have no use for your compliments." Jim growled. Mathias chuckled as he approached his old rival. Instinctively, Jim's fingers curled around his pistol.

"There'll be no need for that, old friend." Mathias said, holding out his hand. "That is, if we still are friends." Jim stared at him for a moment, judging whether or not he was trustworthy. At last he accepted the handshake. Mathias smiled.

"I see you're on the run, on your own."

"Yes, I prefer to work alone."

"Sure you don't want to be affiliated with a gang? You know, couple lads to back you up?" Mathias replied. Jim looked at him.

"What are you suggesting?" Mathias shifted uneasily.

"Well uh, you see Craddock, you done took over the crime in these parts, and uh…well…me gang ain't doin' so well and uh…we need a leader." Jim raised an eyebrow in mock question.

"You're not capable of leading, Mathias? You were always the charismatic one." Mathias shrugged. "Well, you know how it is. We need someone good at the whole crime game. And me, well, I'm loosing my spark. The Scotland Yard's long since discovered me tricks. But you, you've always been inventive. You been outsmarting them Scotland Yard blokes since we was kids." He said. Jim smiled.

"So, let me get this straight. You're requesting me to be your leader?"

"Yes."

"Who's in your gang? The regular fools? Stiff?"

"Yes."

"Wright?"

"Yes."

"Sedgwick, Corning, Leigh?"

"Yes."

"Why Mathias, you've got the making of the greatest criminal gang in the entire city."

"I know. So what do you say? Accept the offer or no?" Jim laughed.

"Why damn it, yes, I accept!"

1864- Lady Sarah Charlotte Tarrant:

There she stood. A royal blue gown of satin was draped over her pale skin. Her brown curls fell delicately onto her shoulders. Her seductive lips were painted cherry red, a hypnotizing color. Her waist and cleavage were alluring; nearly every man in the room was dazzled by her. Standing outside the tall windows of Tarrant Manor, Jim Craddock gazed as well, but not with the awe that was in most men's eyes. His deep blue irises held malice in them, the beginnings of a dastardly plot forming in his head. But what bothered him was that he wasn't sure whether or not he could go through with it.

After all, he was only twenty years old. Was he truly so heinous as to perform an act such as this? Snare stood beside him, obedient to his new master.

"She's a lovely one."

"Aye."

"You considering going after her? The boys and I aren't against kidnapping you know."

"No, no, that won't be necessary. We don't want to scare the kitten. No, I'll do it myself."

"Kidnap her?"

"In affect. But I won't exactly be 'kidnapping' her. I'll have to be more sophisticated."

"Threat?"

"Persuasion. Persuasion always works best on mindless little kitties. But mark my words; she'll be mine by dawn." He replied and stalked off, leaving his men to their operation. Snare sighed. Jim was by far the finest criminal he'd met, but the boy was troubled. Snare was a few years older than him, and he felt responsible for him. Sinister as highwaymen may be, they did have hearts. Being a criminal was like a brotherhood. You looked after on another. Of course it was hard when your leader was a downright genius and an arrogant fool at the same time. And so, the young thief plucked Lady Tarrant up into his grasp, first lying then threatening, well, hell, all of the above options that could be used by a dastardly monster. But in time, the thief began to grow on Sarah Tarrant and she slowly but surely found herself falling in love with him.

1870- Current time:

As the music came to a lilting stop, Jim slowly raised his fingers and snapped them. Unbeknownst to the explosives planted outside the room, the humans continued to dance, laughing and smiling, unknowing of their fate. There was the woosh of flames engulfing wood and the windows burst, shards of glass sent flying…


	3. Midnight Stroll

Chapter 3- Vengeance

London, 1873

End sequence of the last chapter: Shards of glass are sent careening across the floor. People dash about, women scream as their husbands drag them away, struggling to conceal their own horror. And all the while, he simply grins, waiting for his minions to pounce upon their prey like rabid tigers and suck every last drop of gold from their shaking hands. Bliss. Blissful is a night such as this. As he watches them run and cower like puppets on his string. They will do whatever he likes now.

Beginning sequence: A ring of gold he now wears. How it glistens in the moonlight. It is a band that proclaims a powerful emotion. It begins with a few words and the customary kneeling on one knee. There is the acceptance or the rejection. And if accepted, there is the customary ceremony. There is the passing of rings. More words.

A kiss. And life begins anew. Yes. It is the traditional wedding ceremony. And Gentleman Jim Craddock, now known as Gentleman Ghost, finally made good on the promise he had once made to Lady Sarah Tarrant. But a few years later, he would often regret it, as he had had no idea at the time of what he was getting himself into.

She stood before him; her eyes drooping from fatigue, yet her soul forbid slumber to attack it. But the need for sleep ate away at her fragile bones.

"But Father!" she whined. "You promised you'd read to me!" Her father knelt before her, smiling kindly, although his eyes grinned with something else. Malice possibly. He took her into his arms and kissed her head.

"Sorry precious, not tonight. Daddy's got to run." The girl looked up at him.

"But no one's down at the harbor now, are they?" she inquired, inquisitive. He chuckled.

"Not that kind of work, kitty. Now be a good girl and go to sleep." He gave her a slight push. "Off you go." Grudgingly, the little girl wandered off to bed. As it turns out, the little girl's name was Katherine Craddock, Katie for short. And her father was…well…who is this story about anyway? Surely you can tell from the namesake. But if you can't…you shall soon find out.

Gentleman Ghost, our phantom criminal, had promised his wife that he would find a suitable career so that if they ever raised a child, the child would have a good, just man for a father…rather than the true criminal he was. Had Sally had her way, Jim would have stopped with the whole crime business altogether…but that wasn't so. As he had once said before giving her a peck on the cheek and heading out for the evening's activity, "Sorry love, once a thief, always a thief."

But, in order to compensate, he did find a suitable job. As a boy he had loved the sea. It was such a contrast with the setting of London, a polluted city scurrying with the wealthy and the dirt poor like himself. So, he and his partner-in-crime, Mathias Snare began a business down at the harbor. They were merchants, traders. But as I mentioned before, it was impossible for him to get out of the day-to-day crime business. But this little scheme was foolproof, not to mention the pay was excellent. While the Scotland Yard was busy thinking that they were goody-goody law abiding citizens, they were busy dealing with illegal import and export. They had created a lovely smuggling business, bootlegging everything from alcohol to tobacco to gunpowder. Crafty, as usual.

And so, the criminal set off, leaving his little daughter to pout. But she will come back soon, for the young girl was smart like her father. And she would soon discover his powerful secret.

Jim set off for his destination: Soho Square, the richest plum of all, ripe and plump, ready to be picked (metaphorically speaking, of course). In this case, he wouldn't be picking produce. He'd be picking pockets. But in a more sophisticated way, of course. Soho Square was one of the wealthiest sections of London and considered the most fashionable place to live. In fact, it was where 221b Baker Street was located, the home of the late Detective Sherlock Holmes. It had also been the place where Jim had been employed as a child, as the Holmes's servant boy. He was supposed to be Sherlock's companion but the boy had proved to be nasty.

But that didn't matter. Jim had been nasty himself. He rode in the shadows, keeping Oswald well controlled. He couldn't risk being caught by the Scotland Yard. Since the death of their dear detective, they had given up on him, thinking that he had redeemed himself with the start of his small importing business (Ha, not in this lifetime… afterlife time). But on the other hand, their hands were full with the new trouble that their 'phantom' was causing. But the men in that bloody agency were too daft to see the similarities in their acts. Holmes was the only one who could tell the difference and he was dead. Supposedly.

As he passed under a leafy apple tree, he yanked back on the reigns, pulling Oswald to a halt. He glanced around, surveying his surroundings. As he did so, an inextinguishable fury built up inside him like a wildfire. He could see several lights in the windows and heard music and laughter. It reminded him of the extravagant parties that Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had held when he was boy, the ones he could never enjoy. He was too busy fixing drinks for the drunken imbeciles. After a few moments of furious silence, there came a whisper.

"Ready and primed, boss."

"Are you quite sure, Stiff?"

"Of course, sir. Got the explosives, got the swords, the guns. The works."

Jim sighed. "If only I could trust you." He muttered. Mr. Stiff had blown far too many raids because he had said that he said that everything was in order. "Get Leigh out here." Stiff nodded and obediently set off to find Mr. Leigh. Snare trotted up to Jim on his horse, pulling the steed to a quiet halt.

"What's the hold up, old boy?"

"Nothing. I'm just not bloody sure if Stiff's bad luck streak is going to have a flare this evening." He answered icily. Snare chuckled.

"You worry too much, Jimmy."

"Being cautious is what keeps us out of jail, Mr. Snare. And I must I remind you…_again_…that I have never liked that name." he hissed.

"Alright then, do you mind Jamie?"

"Oh for God's sake Matt, I'm not nine years old!"

"Alright, alright, suit yourself. But from now on it's Mathias. No more o' this Matt business."

"Whatever you say. Besides, I've always preferred Snare."

"Alright boys, everything's in order." Leigh finally emerged from the alleys. The two men looked down at him from their horses, malicious looks in their eyes.

"You're sure?" Jim said. Leigh nodded.

"As sure as one can be."

"Good." Jim smiled, the grin so evil, Leigh half expected sharp fangs to appear over his lower lip. "Tell the men to get their finest weapons and horses, Mr. Leigh. Tonight, we raid Soho Square."

Katie lay under the covers, tossing and turning, her eyes begging for slumber now. But then again, she was only four years old and a rather overactive child. Normally those ones fell asleep with ease but she was…rather difficult. She never liked to rest. Slowly, she swung her legs over the bed and got up.

"Perhaps Father is at the docks." She whispered, yawning sleepily. She wandered silently down the hallway and down the stairs, creeping up to the front door, dawning her robe and slippers, and leaving the Craddock Residence. Jim Craddock's home wasn't enormous, but it wasn't small either. 27 Westchester Lane was an old brick house, built in the early seventeen-hundreds, with black shudders and a slate roof. The front steps were always well-swept every morning by either Sally or their hired maid, Nan Driscoll. It was a quaint, well-kept dwelling, but to Jim, it was no more than a place to sleep at night.

A home wasn't all that valuable to one who had been imprisoned in such for nearly all his life. His job in the Holmes Residence still haunted him.

Quietly, Katie crept out of the house, leaving the protection of her home and entering the dangerous realm of London in the middle of the night. This was the time of night when the city's most unsavory characters came out of the woodwork and frightened the living daylights out of anyone who was not one of them. Thieves and bandits flew through the shadows, grabbing lovely women from behind and pulling them into the gloom. There, they would mouth at them like vampires, whispering threats into their ears and sweet-talking them, shaking the gold and jewels from them, then escape into the blackness. Highwaymen swarmed the coaches, raiding the passengers whilst their accomplices held the barrels of their pistols at their throats.

It was as if the city had been wrenched upside down, doused thoroughly with a layer of pitch-black paint, smothered with the smoke of a thousand guns, and drenched with the insatiable greed of every thief, bank robber, and highwayman in the whole of London. Indeed, they spread through the city like an epidemic, poisoning anyone in their path with fear. And for Jim Craddock, the Gentleman Ghost, there was nothing more wonderful in the world.

Here, in the thick of this utter chaos, he was free. As any sane person would know, Jim Craddock wasn't normal. Even without his horrid curse…well…he was a thief. A criminal. He wasn't considered as your everyday law-abiding citizen. Hell, to the normal Londoner, he didn't exist. None of them did. It was only at night, when his power was at its peak, that his reign of terror was recognized. But to Katie Craddock, this world was quite the opposite.

It was the most frightening thing she had ever seen. She crept forward, unearthly howls of what she suspected to be laughter echoing off the stone walls. Instinctively, she drew her cloak tighter around her, the chill of autumn sending shivers up her spine. Shadows danced in the light of the street lamps, and yet, the lane was empty. Voices seemed to float atop the wind, and yet there was no one near. For a moment, she closed her eyes, wishing with all the might a four-year-old could muster that everything…this entire cryptic world…would disappear. That everything she was seeing or hearing was all a dream and that she would wake up any moment now; that she would wake up in her father's arms, her head cradled in his hands, and that he would be pressing loving kisses onto her forehead and whispering that everything was alright.

But somewhere, deep within her heart, she knew that she had to go on.

"Daddy, will be down at the docks." She whispered. "Daddy will take me home. He will pick me up and carry me to the coach. We will ride back to Westchester and all the way home, he'll tell me stories of all his adventures. He'll tell me how he met mother and how he fell in love with her. And then…he'll carry me up to bed and tuck me in and kiss me goodnight. Yes, it shall all happen like that." But unfortunately, that was not to be so.

Gentleman Ghost soared over Soho Square, dropping in through the windows and chimneys, invisible to human eyes. And once he had gotten his lute, he continued on to the next location. What a fright it gave humans to see a ghost image, dressed in white, without a head or hands. Merely a floating top hat and monocle with floating gloves, brandishing a skull handled cane. What a fright it gave them when he spoke, his voice soft and lilting, yet so malicious. What a fright it gave them when he flew away, leaving them to stare up at the sky, questioning their own sanity. So much fear. Mmmm…delightful.

But alas, t'was the end of the night. Business was done for the evening. The Few Good Men organization took their plunder and left Soho Square, slipping into the shadows and finding their way back home.

Jim Craddock wandered through the streets, keeping to the shadows, in case any suspicious Scotland Yard agents came along. When in human form, and in public, he was extremely discreet with his actions and rarely, if ever, robbed anyone, especially during the day. Even in the blackness of night, he could not risk giving his true appearance away. After all, he was enjoying his risk-free life during the day.

Katie squinted to see through the dark, as the gas-lit lamps were only on the main road. She made her way through a maze of alleyways, gunshot, laughter and the terrifying screams of helpless victims funneling through the narrow passages. Red-eyed rats scurried past, inches from her feet. The cobblestones were wet and dirty, the walls oozing with filth. The stench of stale rum and cigar smoke, coupled with the scent of a recently fired gun, hung in the air. Her eyes darted upward, gazing at the hundreds of chimneys, sending up puffs of smoke. Clotheslines laden with garments swayed in the cool breeze. The place was like a burial ground.

Everything seemed to have come to a standstill. It was as if the city that was once abuzz with life during the daylight hours had withered and died. T'would not be till dawn that it was reborn. But perhaps…there was life in this gray, lifeless shell of a city. Katie glanced up ahead, her eyes focusing on a bright green orb of light. Unable to resist, she raced down the alley, her curiosity aroused.

A long, jagged crack grew ever wider, uprooting the gravestones that surrounded it. This was Brigands Hill Cemetery, the cemetery where James Craddock's body had been buried. Of course, the casket was empty now, and the headstone crumbling. No one could read the carvings. But the figure arising from the great rift was not interested in the many corpses he was disturbing. Only one thing interested him now. And that was Jim Craddock's life. The figure arose, the blinding green light now reduced to flames, lapping at the edges of the portal. His name was Sherlock Holmes. He had come from Hell. And he had come for revenge.

Katie hid behind an abandoned crate, watching as the man descended from the flames, a mad look gleaming in his eyes. The flames died as his shoes touched the ground, the jagged crack closing with a low rumble. The man grinned wickedly and walked off, the darkness enveloping him.

"How peculiar," she mumbled and quietly followed him.

Jim Craddock walked quietly through the alleyways, the cool breeze threatening to blow his hat right off his head. He drew his cloak tighter. The cold brought back haunting memories of his time in the afterlife. Everything seemed to be in order, but there was something about the air that was awfully peculiar. It had acquired a musty scent, something like smoke. Of course, it could be from the countless chimneys, but this was different. It seemed to have been a pent up flame, one that had not seen the light of day in a very long time. The scent that washed over him was that of dead corpses, rotting in the pits of hell. He smiled.

"Ah, my old friend the devil is back. I don't think he'll be pleased that I attend church regularly." He continued walking on ahead, the scent of smoke overwhelming now, a faint green glow in the distance, a figure arising. Jim chuckled.

"So Holmes is back." With that, he took off into the skies. "How rude of me. I should welcome my new guest." Gentleman Ghost whispered cruelly. It didn't surprise him that Holmes had managed to escape his fiery confinements. He tended to have a way with words that even the devil couldn't resist.

Katie was ten paces back, stealthily following the stranger, when he turned around.

"Miss Craddock, I presume?" His face was hidden by the darkness. The girl was hesitant.

"Yes." She whispered. The man chuckled, approaching her slowly.

"Such a lovely child, a true gem. So much like Lady Tarrant." He crooned, his voice soft and lilting. Katie tried to conceal her bewilderment.

"Her name is not Tarrant anymore, sir. It is Craddock. And who might you be?" she said quietly. The man chuckled.

"Why, my name is Sherlock Holmes." At this, she froze. She had heard that name before. Her father and Mathias Snare muttered it often to themselves. It seemed to be a name that looked upon with great distaste. She stared up at the man, the malicious gleam in his dark eyes quite frightening.

"I…I don't think my father likes you very much." She whispered, trying to sound defiant. "And who my father doesn't like, I don't like either. Not one bit." Mr. Holmes laughed.

"Well my dear, I do not like him. That is why I am here." He continued forward, edging closer and closer to her. "I planned to get rid of him, but maybe I should get rid of you. Your quite precious to him, aren't you? Why, isn't that his pet name for you? 'Precious'?" Tears welled in her eyes.

"Yes, my daddy calls me that. It is because I nearly died of scarlet fever when I was not but two. He said it was a blessing from God that I lived and that I was always precious to him. But what do you mean…get rid of me?" He grinned, his flames leaping in his eyes.

"Exactly what I said, my dear."

The phantom thief soared over the rooftops, landing just a block before the alley that Holmes was now proceeding through. But wait…someone was with him. But who?  
"Awfully small bugger." He whispered, thoughtful. But then, there was something else that caught his attention. An ear-splitting scream pierced the night air, the scream of a little girl. And then, there was a call for help. One that sounded just like his little Katie. His dear, sweet, precious Katie.

"Katie." He whispered, his heart skipping a beat. "I'm coming, love."

Flames were spreading rapidly, setting the walls of the alley alight. It caught on everything, stone, wood, anything that was in sight. This was Hell's fire. It was inextinguishable. And all the while, as the flames came closer and closer to her feet, Holmes merely smiled.

"Bye-bye, dear." Now, the flames were contorting, forming deep, jagged claws, writhing at her in fury. They grabbed at the edge of her dress, singing the cloth. The heat burned her flesh, sending waves of pain surging through her body. But something unexpected would happen. The phantom soared down out of the sky, his skull handled cane brandished. In moments, a bolt of purple lightning struck her captor down, the flames dying instantly. But Holmes' time in Hell had given him the powers of a demon. He would not be stopped by a mere trick of magic such as this. Holmes rose quickly, his eyes alight.

"Ah, Gentleman Ghost. I see we meet again."

Jim wasn't in the mood for idol chatter. He just wanted this thing gone.

"Get. Away. From. Her." He growled, several bolts of purple light shooting from the cane. He dodged them easily.

"I'll give her back when I'm done." He replied. The flames had now transformed into writhing snakes, hissing wildly. Jim looked down on Katie, who stood dumbstruck with fear.

"Run Katie, run!" he cried. Katie looked up at him, fear in her eyes.

"W…"

"Run!" The words were registered within seconds and the girl took off at a run. Holmes grinned.

"I'll get her, don't worry."

"You'll have to get through me!"

"Now, now, Jim. It isn't like you to be impolite to your guests."

"You are no guest here. You're better off in Hell!" He chuckled.

"Alright then, have it your way. But the girl only lives if you get to her first. My pets are already after her." Holmes gestured to the flaming serpents that were flying down the alley, hot on her trail. Jim stared at him. He said nothing, just stared. Then, he shot off into the night, the dead detective cackling behind him. He shot over the rooftops, Katie only a few paces ahead of him. But he had a chance. He flew down into the passage, the flame licking at his shoes. But he didn't care. He grabbed up the girl and soared into the moon-lit night.

"Let go of me!" the girl screamed. "Let go, let go!"

"Quiet girl!" he hissed. "Stop squirming or you'll fall to your death!"

"Let go of me, you creature!" she cried, undeterred. Jim looked at her, knowing she couldn't see him, knowing that she didn't know it was him. He couldn't tell her. She'd be too terrified. He had to let her go.

"Let go, let go!" she screeched, over and over and over. Jim looked at her one last time.

"Alright. You give me no choice!" And that was the end of it. Katie Craddock plummeted from the sky, falling from his grasp. Falling to her death….

So one would think.

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	4. A Mystery to be Unfurled

**Okay guys, I present to you, the 4****th**** chapter of…Angel…of…Death…. (Of course, the numerous 'dot, dot, dots' are, well…you know, there to increase the DRAMA *Insert Gasps of Utter Amazement Here* …or creepy music or screaming or crying or…you know, whatever works. I'm a creepy music chick myself,) Ahem, enough rambling. To be quite honest, as a writer, I am pretty much DISGUSTED with the last chapter, (though I sincerely thank those of you who liked it). It was rushed, as you can probably tell by the severely lackluster and abrupt ending. What can I say, I like ending things with a bang. But anyway, I really just wanted to publish the dang thing and get it out of my document files where it would continue to give me the puppy-dog eyes and say, 'Jasper, finish me!'**

**So yeah. I did. I think it sucked. Some people liked it. No I'm not re-writing it. I simply don't have the patience. But, I've been recently motivated so hopefully this chapter will be chock-full of ghostly goodness (and a little love-hate, occasionally…**_**hot**_** stuff for Jim and Sally). Enjoy! Thank you ViveWonderland, especially, for PMing me when I had questions and giving me a highly supportive and very touching review. You rock the world. **

**Tired, depressed, lifeless, and desperate to write something,**

**J.B**

London, England- 1873

Chapter 4: Tempted by the Devil

Beginning Sequence: Rooftops. Shingles and slate, they rose up to meet her. The wind rushed at her, screaming in her ears like wailing banshees. She knew she was going to die. It was inevitable. She closed her eyes and breathed a prayer. Then, there was blackness.

But she didn't fall. She felt something…catch her; lift her with strong, solid arms. Perhaps it was Gabriel, come to usher her into the gates of St. Peter. Perhaps it was her mind, trying desperately to blur the crushing impact of her fall. But she didn't care either way. Either way, she was at peace.

Thank God. Jim's arms wrapped around her waist protectively, lifting her little body into the air. His plan had never been to let her go; all along, he intended to dive down just as she was about to hit the roofs, and grab her. Little Katie's eyes were shut tight; poor love, she looked stricken. He landed lightly on the cobblestones below, the thick London fog settling in, obscuring his vision somewhat. He set her down gently. He considered waking her up; it was obvious she'd fainted. But no…wait…. He glanced at his hand. White. Better switch back, else he'd more damage. He sighed, eyeing his skin. He rarely revealed himself at night anymore- didn't want to get caught.

It would be a lie to say he hadn't enjoyed the risk-free life of a mundane human (though it also wouldn't be a lie to say that he wasn't cursing himself as he thought this.) A thief's life after all was to be on the run, to be wild and free and …malicious, naturally. And a thief never, ever, ever in his life, acted as a regular citizen. 'Regular citizen', as in a law-abiding subject of her majesty, the Queen. Ah no, a thief _only_ answered to himself, _only_ ever obeyed himself, never took orders from anybody _but_ himself.

He never had a career of his own, besides robbery. That was his one source of income, his one source of wealth. But…he supposed he didn't mind being the odd one out in the population of criminals. It was, after all, quite a luxury to live a rather worry-free. He had a permanent dwelling, a lovely spouse, one small child and another on the way. A business of which he co-owned with his partner Mathias Snare. Yes, yes it was a good life. An easy life. But he wasn't becoming lazy. Oh no. Smuggling was the mainstay of his business now, though he enjoyed a good many nights of highway-work.

Mmmm…yes, the piercing screams of young girls, the curses of men as they were barbarously looted. The rush of money being sifted through his fingers…t'was bliss.

He stroked Katie's dark hair, smiling at her softly.

"I suppose I should take you home shouldn't I?"

Jim Craddock's Stagecoach

Several Minutes Later

He tapped her face lightly. Her eyes blinked once, suddenly, first with fear, then with ease. She burrowed into his chest.

"Daddy!" she whispered, tears beginning to trickle down her cheeks. "Oh Daddy, it was so frightening!"

"What my little poppet? Whatever was so frightening?"

She looked up at him, her brown eyes wide and brilliant. "The…the…ghost! Oh Father, I saw a ghost!"

Jim resisted a chuckle and covered his mouth with his gloved hand, a look of feigned shock on his face. "Why… a ghost? Heavens, that can't be possible."

"Oh but it was really!" she cried. "I saw it with my own eyes! He was all white with a coat and top hat…and…and…and a monocle, like you have!"

"Oh he did?"

"Yes, yes! He had a cane, like you have too! Only…purple light shot out of it! Like…like a wand or something!"

At this, Jim chocked back an offended response. Wand! Huh. Bloody ignorant girl with her silly notions. Well…partially silly notions.

He smiled at her sweetly, smoothing a strand of hair from her eyes.

"Katie-love," he began matter-of-factly.

"Oh Daddy please believe me!" she cried. Poor thing was close to hysteria.

"Katie-love, I would believe you, but truly I think you were just having a nightmare. You woke up screaming in the night…I thought it best to bring you out into the fresh air for a little ride, to settle you down." He said calmly, holding her wriggling little body close to his with a firm grip. She stopped struggling for a moment.

"But…but you said you…you had to leave. You went out before I went to bed." She said softly.

He chuckled.

"That was only for a few hours, kitten. It's past one now."

Slowly she mulled it all over, despair welling within her heart. She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes.

"I didn't have a nightmare, Daddy. I couldn't sleep, so I went out to find you. And then…then this man named…named Holmes came and sent this ugly dragon after me. And then…then this horrid white specter chased after me too! He grabbed me and yelled at me! Oh I was so scared! I was going to fall. I knew I was to die, I was sure. He let me go. I thought that surely I'd passed on. But then you woke me up, and I was in the coach. …Why that's it, the ghost saved me, Father!"

So that's how the little bugger got in this mess, he thought angrily. But… he softened a bit when he saw her big brown eyes again.

"Please, Daddy. Please believe me." She whispered.

Jim sighed, his eyelids drooping with fatigue. He picked her up into his arms, allowing her to lean her head against his shoulder. He kissed her head lightly.

"Oh, poppet." He stifled a yawn. "It's far too late now to be discussing such a complicated topic. I have hardly any energy left as it is. What do you say we talk about this in the morning, hmm?"

She glared at him defiantly. He raised an eyebrow.

"I promise."

"Do you really?"

"Cross my heart."

She didn't respond.

"Come now kitten, you know Daddy always gives his word."

She sighed quietly and gave a reluctant nod. He smiled and kissed her head.

"That's my girl."

27 Westchester Lane, Dwelling of Jim Craddock

London, England- 1884

Rain clattered down onto the streets noisily; in the distance, horses could be heard whinnying shrilly as thunder boomed and lightning flashed. The room was lit sparsely by a single kerosene lamp, washing over the room with a warm, yellow light. He held her close, his arm coiled tightly around her slender waist. He could feel her chest rising and falling against him, her chin held up with his thumb and forefinger. Her dark, almost velvety brown eyes glared up at him, a profuse fury scorching within them. He chuckled and pressed his lips against hers in a deep kiss, and he felt her lean into him as the kiss grew slightly more passionate.

The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed the hour, eight o'clock. His mouth lingered at hers for a moment longer, then he pulled away abruptly. He studied her for a moment. Her expression was still angry, but it had softened a little. He smiled devilishly and bent in to kiss her once more, though this time it was a quick one. She put her arms around his neck, looking up into his mischievous blue eyes.

"Don't think for a second that you've weaseled your way out of this, _James_." She said firmly. Jim chuckled.

"So this discussion is not yet finished?"

"We didn't start."

"I see." He kissed her neck. "You'll have to excuse me, love," he murmured into her neck. "I have some unfinished business to attend to and I'm afraid I'll be out rather late."

She pushed him away gently, giving him a level stare. "Don't you always have unfinished business? Aren't you always out late? When will you ever_ finish_ said business, when will you ever be home_ early_?"

"A wise question, and unfortunately I've yet to find the answer."

Sally laughed quietly.

"Of course." She gave her husband one last kiss goodbye and followed him to down to the foyer to bid him farewell for the evening. It had been like this every night for the last fourteen years. At first, she had been sick with worry for Jim, but by now it was routine. She didn't like it, but she knew that she couldn't stop it. And besides, he knew how to take care of himself.

XXX

Katherine sat quietly at the kitchen table, nursing a bowl of gruel whilst pouring over a Dickens' volume. Reading wasn't exactly encouraged in the Craddock household. Sally of course wanted both her children to read and be educated, but Jim was… well… more than against it.

Due to his rather violent childhood, he'd come to resent anything that was connected to wealth. Education happened to be one of those things. Sally sighed as she watched her daughter plaintively.

"Jim,"

"Hmm?"

"Have you talked to her." She said quietly.

Jim fussed with his cufflinks. "What about?" he replied absently.

"What I was talking to you while you were attempting to devour my neck."

"What was that?"

"About sending her to my father's home every couple of weeks."

"…"

"For lessons?"

"…"

"Oh blast it, Jim! Just go on, go on with you!" she pushed him closer to the door, the same angered look in her eyes. He simply smiled and pecked her on the cheek, chuckling as he embarked.

"As you wish, my dearest."

And he set off into the bleak, stormy night. Sally watched him for a moment, his figure soon lost in the torrent of rain and lightening. She then closed and latched the door.

XXX

The rain fell harder now, pounding against the roof, roaring like a furious lion. Katie stood up from her chair, stretching lazily. She crossed to the window, flexing her legs, now free of hoops and petticoats. Her silken robe billowed around her ankles. She stared out at the transparent rain that poured down the window panes in sheets.

"_Eerily beautiful_," she mused. She turned away for a moment as an ember exploded in the fire, but out of the corner of her eye, something flashed against the blackness of the night.

"What in God's name…."

A specter of pure white appeared in the darkness, mounted atop a skeletal steed, cutting through the night with a blinding violet glow. The ghostly horse whinnied and reared up, its rider merely laughing as he pulled on the reins, flying off into the distance. In his hand, the skull-handled cane let loose the torrent of purple fire.

For a moment, she simply stared, blinking furiously, attempting to erase the nonsensical thoughts from her head. But they continued to pop up, aggravatingly so. Images of that night when she was not but a little snip of child…

_A man rising up from the depths of a fiery inferno._

_ A dragon of hideous flames writhing at her._

_ A white specter with a mysterious cane._

_ A near-fatal fall from the sky._

_ The arms of an angel holding her secure._

_ Back in the stagecoach._

_ Daddy, telling her everything would be alright. That he'd explain it all in the morning._

But he never did. He never spoke of the subject again, simply dismissing her hunger for answers. She shivered. Was the specter back to haunt her again? Surely, this time he hadn't been a mere figment of her imagination. Unless she was delirious, but she hadn't a fever.

_The cane leaning against the coat rack. The silver skull handle gleamed in the waning light._

_ Its mouth was a toothy grin._

_ Its large, empty eyes ominously gazing out at the Craddock household._

The skull handled cane. Father's cane. The cane that the specter had been wielding….

Without another thought, she raced into the hall, dawned her cloak, and rushed out into the evening air. This time that bloody specter wouldn't get away. She'd find out who he was and whatever he was doing with her father's cane. This time, she'd find proof.


End file.
